Amazing, Common Sense and Hope do exist

ROOM FOR IMPROVEMENT

It's early December, 10:30 in the morning, and Rene Zepeda is driving a Volunteers of America minivan around Salt Lake City, looking for reclusive homeless people, those camping out next to the railroad tracks or down by the river or up in the foothills. The winter has been unseasonably warm so far—it's 60 degrees today—but the cold weather is coming and the van is stacked with sleeping bags, warm coats, thermal underwear, socks, boots, hats, hand warmers, protein bars, nutrition drinks, canned goods. By the end of the day, Rene says, it will all be gone.

These supplies make life a little easier for people who live outside, but Rene's main goal is to develop a relationship of trust with them, and act as a bridge to get them off the street. "I want to get them into homes," Rene says. "I tell them, 'I'm working for you. I want to get you out of the homeless situation.'"

And he does. He and all the other people who work with the homeless here have perhaps the best track record in the country. In the past nine years, Utah has decreased the number of homeless by 72 percent—largely by finding and building apartments where they can live, permanently, with no strings attached. It's a program, or more accurately a philosophy, called Housing First.



Scott Nowlin, 60, was homeless for 20 years before he was given a home as part of Utah's Housing First program.

One of the two phones on the dash starts ringing. "Outreach, this is Rene." He's upbeat, the voice you want to hear if you're in trouble. "Do you want to meet at the motel? Or the 7-Eleven?" he asks. "Okay, we'll be there in five minutes."

Five days ago, William Miller, 63, was diagnosed with liver cancer at St. Mary's Hospital in Reno, Nevada. The next day a friend put him on the train to Salt Lake City, hoping the Latter Day Saints Hospital might help. For the past two nights he's been sleeping under a freeway viaduct. He vomits when he wakes up in the morning and has gone through two sets of clothes due to diarrhea. Yesterday he went to the LDS Hospital for a checkup and slept for five and a half hours in a bathroom. Now he's sitting on the back of the van in a motel parking lot. A friend staying at the motel let him take a shower in his room, but then William started feeling weak, so he called Rene.

"I'm one that rarely gets sick," he says. "It takes a lot to get me down, but I'm all out of everything."



He has bushy sideburns and a lot of hair sticking out from a beanie and looks as if he was once much bigger than he is now, like he's shrinking inside oversized clothes.

"I had two cups of Jell-O yesterday. My buddy got me a cup of coffee and a couple of doughnuts, but I'm gagging and throwing up everything. I'm nodding out talking to people, and that's not good."

Rene helps William get in the passenger seat and drives him to the Fourth Street Clinic, which provides free care for the homeless and is where Rene used to work as an AmeriCorps volunteer. He knows the system and trusts the doctors and nurses. William gets out of the van and walks inside very slowly and sits down in the waiting room. Rene checks him in. "I'm a tough old bird," William says to me. "I ain't never had something like this. I'm just weak as all get out, and in a lot of pain."

Then he nods off.

The next stop is at a camp next to the railroad tracks. A 57-year-old man and a 41-year-old woman are living in a three-man dome tent covered with plastic tarps. Patrick says he's doing okay, even though he's had two strokes this year and has two tumors on his left lung and walks with a cane.

"My legs are going out. I'm sure it's from camping out. We were living in the hills for two years," he says. "My girlfriend, Charmaine, is talking about killing herself she's in so much pain." Charmaine is a heroin addict who suffers from diabetes, grand mal seizures, cirrhosis, and heart attacks. "When we lived in the foothills we both got bit by poisonous spiders," she says, showing me a three-inch scar above her swollen right ankle. "The doctor tried to cut out the infection, but he accidently cut my calf muscle."

She walks slowly, with a limp. As Rene is getting Charmaine in the van, Patrick takes him aside and asks if maybe Rene could get her into one of the subsidized apartments for chronically homeless people.

"If she comes back here she'll die," he says. "Especially with the cold weather coming."

Rene tells him he'll look into it.

On the way to the Fourth Street Clinic, I ask Charmaine how many times she's been to an emergency room or clinic this year.


He lost his job, home, and kids to drug use. Now Patrick Bartholomew is clean and has full custody. "I can talk about my story now," he says. "For a long time I couldn't."

"More times than I can count," she says.

By the end of the day, Rene has met with 12 homeless people, all with drug and alcohol problems, many requiring medical help, all needing the sleeping bags, warm clothes, food, and supplies that he hands out. As the sun sets we head back to the office with an empty van.

"I do it for the money and glamour," he says, laughing. "No, I mean you cross a line and you really can't go back, 'cause you just know this is out here."


We could, as a country, look at the root causes of homelessness and try to fix them. One of the main causes is that a lot of people can't afford a place to live. They don't have enough money to pay rent, even for the cheapest dives available. Prices are rising, inventory is extremely tight, and the upshot is, as a new report by the Urban Institute finds, that there's only 29 affordable units available for every 100 extremely low-income households. So we could create more jobs, redistribute the wealth, improve education, socialize health carebasically redesign our political and economic systems to make sure everybody can afford a roof over their heads.

Instead of this, we do one of two things: We stick our heads in the sand or try to find bandages for the symptoms. This story is about how Utah has found a third way.

To understand how the state did that it helps to know that homeless-service advocates roughly divide their clients into two groups: those who will be homeless for only a few weeks or a couple of months, and those who are "chronically homeless," meaning they have been without a place to live for more than a year, and have other problems—mental illness or substance abuse or other debilitating damage. The vast majority, 85 percent, of the nation's estimated 580,000 homeless are of the temporary variety, mainly men but also women and whole families who spend relatively short periods of time sleeping in shelters or cars, then get their lives together and, despite an economy increasingly stacked against them, find a place to live, somehow. However, the remaining 15 percent, the chronically homeless, fill up the shelters night after night and spend a lot of time in emergency rooms and jails. This is expensive—costing between $30,000 and $50,000 per person per year according to the Interagency Council on Homelessness. And there are a few people in every city, like Reno's infamous "Million-Dollar Murray," who really bust the bank. So in recent years, both local and federal efforts to solve the homelessness epidemic have concentrated on the chronic population, currently about 84,000 nationwide.

In 2005, approximately 2,000 of these chronically homeless people lived in the state of Utah, mainly in and around Salt Lake City. Many different agencies and groups—governmental and nonprofit, charitable and religious—worked to get them back on their feet and off the streets. But the numbers and costs just kept going up.

The model for dealing with the chronically homeless at that time, both here and in most places across the nation, was to get them "ready" for housing by guiding them through drug rehabilitation programs or mental-health counseling, or both. If and when they stopped drinking or doing drugs or acting crazy, they were given heavily subsidized housing on the condition that they stay clean and relatively sane. This model, sometimes called "linear residential treatment" or "continuum of care," seemed to be a good idea, but it didn't work very well because relatively few chronically homeless people ever completed the work required to become "ready," and those who did often could not stay clean or stop having mental episodes, so they lost their apartments and became homeless again.

In 1992, a psychologist at New York University named Sam Tsemberis decided to test a new model. His idea was to just give the chronically homeless a place to live, on a permanent basis, without making them pass any tests or attend any programs or fill out any forms.

"Okay," Tsemberis recalls thinking, "they're schizophrenic, alcoholic, traumatized, brain damaged. What if we don't make them pass any tests or fill out any forms? They aren't any good at that stuff. Inability to pass tests and fill out forms was a large part of how they ended up homeless in the first place. Why not just give them a place to live and offer them free counseling and therapy, health care, and let them decide if they want to participate? Why not treat chronically homeless people as human beings and members of our community who have a basic right to housing and health care?"

Tsemberis and his associates, a group called Pathways to Housing, ran a large test in which they provided apartments to 242 chronically homeless individuals, no questions asked. In their apartments they could drink, take drugs, and suffer mental breakdowns, as long as they didn't hurt anyone or bother their neighbors. If they needed and wanted to go to rehab or detox, these services were provided. If they needed and wanted medical care, it was also provided. But it was up to the client to decide what services and care to participate in.

The results were remarkable. After five years, 88 percent of the clients were still in their apartments, and the cost of caring for them in their own homes was a little less than what it would have cost to take care of them on the street. A subsequent study of 4,679 New York City homeless with severe mental illness found that each cost an average of $40,449 a year in emergency room, shelter, and other expenses to the system, and that getting those individuals in supportive housing saved an average of $16,282. Soon other cities such as Seattle and Portland, Maine, as well as states like Rhode Island and Illinois, ran their own tests with similar results. Denver found that emergency-service costs alone went down 73 percent for people put in Housing First, for a savings of $31,545 per person; detox visits went down 82 percent, for an additional savings of $8,732. By 2003, Housing First had been embraced by the Bush administration.




A very large article at http://www.motherjones.com/politics/2015/02/housing-first-solution-to-homelessness-utah

It gives hope that there are people out there who are kind and thoughtful and empathetic, and when they set to and add common sense to the mixture and treat people, whatever their problems, like human beings, they respond.

Import it over here!

But too few. This is not something that charity should be relied upon. This is a problem that government should be addressing.

What is remarkable is how people are tossed into homelessness for the most casual of reasons.  Ever been evicted?  How's your credit rating?  These are things that can get you blacklisted on Angie's List, or other Internet services that people are making their own living on!

With in information age everything is exacerbated.  It's as easy as a keystroke to put man, woman or child--it doesn't matter--out into the street.

I agree, but it has taken a Charity to see that imposing all the rules that are normally made, supposedly to 'help, actually has the opposite effect.

It would be fantastic if the world recognised that people have a right to a roof over their head.

I have no objection to a charity being involved. Thank god for them. My point is, where is the government and why do we pay taxes? Certainly not for the oil companies!

Quite, you would have thought homeless people would be top of the list, not bottom.

risingsun wrote:I agree, but it has taken a Charity to see that imposing all the rules that are normally made, supposedly to 'help, actually has the opposite effect.

It would be fantastic if the world recognised that people have a right to a roof over their head.

There is a very good reason it doesnt.....


its called "mission creep"

we got it over here already with "certain" lefty bods a while back squeaking that there should be a "right" for every child to have a computer...WTF???

Ok so I can sit on my arse and demand that "someone" "the govt" whoever provide me with anything and everything...."cos its my right dontcha know"